


Ella Fitzgerald

by BabylonSabby



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Ella Fitzgerald - Freeform, Fluff, Holiday, Inspired by Music, M/M, New Year's Eve, Songfic, emotional vent fic, slow dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonSabby/pseuds/BabylonSabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's much too early in the game. But it's better to love now then to have never loved at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ella Fitzgerald

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this version of the song in particular: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxS0GwSUP70

It’s that time again. You’re Dave Strider. Your head is on fire. It’s always on fire. It’s always blazing. A million thoughts per second. Not even you can catch up. And then next thing you know, you’re rambling; spewing out your words either poetically or not so much with the grace of a fumbling, inexperienced child. Which you are, all things considered. You’re in the prime of your teen hood. Immortalized there. Stuck in place. 

But this youth that dances with you in your arms…he is much more delicate. Mortal. Fragile as far as trolls go, and strong compared to humans, but he didn’t inherit the magical pajamas that allowed him eternal youth. So, here he too stands transfixed…even if it’s only for a fleeting moment. One day, you think he might out-age you. He’ll grow older and older. And here you’ll be…virtually left behind. And that’s if you beat this battle you’re all fighting. That’s if you even win. You’ll either be a god following him around like a shadow, or a ghost haunting his every moment’s worth of sleep. Sleep he could use to recover. But you won’t have any of that. Not when you love him this much. He must see you. He has to see you always. He has to know that the cut he’s made in your heart is excruciatingly deep. And probably eternal. If you’re eternal, then the wound would subsequently be just as long-lived, right?

But none of that matters now.

All of it is swept under the rug with the rest of the pain as the two of you celebrate the onset of a brand new year. And the inevitable new session.

“I like this song,” Karkat murmurs, smiling into the crook of your shoulder where it joins your neck. “It sounds old.”

“It is old,” you return just as softly. “1940s, I think. Earth time.”

“The lady singing sounds like a movie star…”

You smirk ever so slightly.

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Melancholy though your lives are, and melancholy though the future might be, nothing beats the high of tonight; where you’re so disoriented the floor itself seems to dissolve away and the surrounding metal walls give way to bright, brisk dreamscape. You’re lost in the music. Lost in time. Lost in your own head. And nothing has or ever will feel this electric. Where did this boy even come from? How long has he existed? Why couldn’t you have known him sooner?

“Marry me, Karkat,” you say feverishly, even daring to hold him tighter than you already are. You’re afraid he’ll flutter away. You’re afraid of the future. You’re afraid all of this will crumble and fall. “You have to marry me when this is all over. In some semblance, or fashion.”

It’s not a good time to cry right now, but you feel the urge regardless. It would be a shame if you did. Then the evening really would be ruined. You start to laugh.

“We could keep doing what we always do. It’ll be like nothing changed. There’ll just be a ring on it. And people could know…” Your breath falters. Your throat starts to close. “People could know how much I love you.”

But the feeling of cold steel shocks you awake as something smooth is slid onto the finger that now droops at your side.

The embrace is broken, the dancing stopped, and the softly smiling Karkat now lifts up that hand to trace a thumb along the silver band he’s just placed on your person.

“Way ahead of you.” 

His voice matches your own. It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard it. And he doesn’t look away.

Your head is on the verge of exploding now amidst all this soft, delicate swaying and dreaming not only of, but with each other. Rather than faint, rather than succumb to the pressure, you lean forward in what could have been a leap, and you kiss him. If he hadn’t kissed back, the music would have been all you heard. Ella Fitzgerald’s crooning would have been enveloping you in a blanket of sound. But thank God he kissed you back. You didn’t want to be alone on this cloud forever. He’s a good reader. He tastes your emotions, absorbs them as you feel them. So you don’t even have to say any words half the time. Especially when they’re as strong as this.

He doesn’t realize sometimes how feeble he makes you.

He’s very good at drowning out your own insecurities. You don’t have to fake it. You don’t have to lie. He absorbs every blow, every wave of pain you dish out. He takes it all. The Game couldn’t have chosen a better Christ figure.

You’re not sure where your life was going before you met him. But now you have some sort of idea. Now you have a ground to stand on, a comforting purr in your ear, and a literal song in your heart. 

Never have the two of you been more ancient as creatures of spirit. Teenagers for now, yes, but teenagers that brought the stars. Teenagers that created life. Teenagers that stopped time and saved lives; held them in your very hands as if they were your children. And you hoped it was destined. Eternally so. You hoped it would never end.

He’s setting the place ablaze just by kissing you. And from the feeling of his increasingly moist skin, you’re not too afraid to jump out on this limb and assume he’s melting just as much as you are. You gasp. The way your hands roam over each other is something akin to exploring children, yet with the prime objective of spreading love and affection that would even make the Care Bears astonished.

You can’t take much more of your own embarrassing noises, much less drowning in this pit of light and fire. You need better footing. Metaphorically you’re grounded; grounded in spirit. Literally, however, not so much.

“Karkat,” you whine. You feel as if you’re a cat. An independent creature, yet no less needy. No less thirsty or hungry. “Couch…”

Couch it is.

Ella Fitzgerald is very fitting, you think. She’s celebratory, angelic even. She throws you in the clouds. But the best part is, Karkat keeps you there. And you have a feeling he’s going to for the rest of the night. But, God damnit. Now you need to make a matching band for him!

You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

For now, couch. Couch, Karkat, Ella Fitzgerald, and all that implies.


End file.
